


Knights and Goddesses

by DarthSuki



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Backstory, Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 08:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: Just a small snippet looking into the early life of Tyrian Callows, based onthis headcanonof what his backstory and childhood must have been.





	Knights and Goddesses

A voice screamed through Tyrian’s thoughts, waking the boy almost instantly from his sleep. In the first, sharp breath in he nearly thought it had been something out of a nightmare, a banshee nearly come to steal him away within his thoughts. But after a second breath, and then a third, he quickly realized that the voice was not some disembodied dream-forged noise that pulled him from sleep–

It was his aunt. Her words rang clearly from downstairs, sharp and shrill and hurting the boy’s sensitive ears, as if every sound echoed around the room tenfold before it finally stopped.

He didn’t need to call back, didn’t even need to acknowledge that he heard; the screaming was only a pleasantry, a reminder of tasks that had become nothing but habit, an expected series of events that Tyrian had found as unmoving and unforgiving as the rising sun and setting moon.

He hopped out of bed and dressed himself as quickly as he could, hoping to get started on the first chore before the woman was out the door of the house if only so she could see him doing it and not accuse him otherwise later in the night.

He pulled on the loose top and his ragged, patched shorts and hurried down the steps to the first floor, catching sight of his aunt just as she was readying herself to leave the house.

“I expect it all to be done when I return this evening,” the woman said, not even looking down at the small child who had come to see her off. “We will be having company over tomorrow and I need this house as clean as can be.”

“Company?” Tyrian questioned, curiosity painting over his features. Other people? “Will they be here long? Will there be other kids?” 

The curiosity was slowly replaced with a budding excitement–someone to play with? Was his aunt going to surprise him with such a gift or, was it his birthday? It had been several years since he remembered last celebrating such a thing, so he didn’t know if that was even coming up.

His aunt turned to him as she pulled the hood of her cloak up and over her head.

And her expression was hard, almost disgusted. There was a sneer in her lips and a hate in her eyes as she stared coldly onto the child she had been given to care for years ago–her distant cousin foolish enough to think she wanted a child, nevertheless a  _faunus_  child and a damn one that had a stinger at that.

“No,” she finally said, wondering why the boy had gotten such a silly idea wrapped up in his thoughts. “They are merely clients from Vale who are looking for someone. You will stay in your room while they are here, I won’t hear a single peep from you. The last thing I need is for you to wave that  _thing_  of yours about willy-nilly and off one of my highest-paying jobs.”

She watched as Tyrian’s expression fell. He wasn’t surprised by the truth, but it still hurt. He missed playing with other kids, missed having someone to talk to.

But with that, the woman stepped out the front door, leaving Tyrian to sigh, reach a hand up and pull back the long, dark hair that brushed over his eyes. It had gotten so long and his aunt had said nothing about getting it cut–he was almost liking it, the way it could hide away his face and eyes when he got too scared to look into his aunt’s eyes (especially as the woman seemed to  _loathe_  direct eye contact).

Tyrian stood there for a while, making sure that the woman wasn’t about to come back in for some forgotten item. When it was obvious she was gone for the foreseeable future, the boy quickly pattered off down the hall and turned into the library. 

It wasn’t too difficult to find his small, almost nondescript hiding spot. A small corner of the room, hidden past several tall, long rows of bookshelves. It was little more than a chair, a blanket and a scattering of pillows, but it was a place of safety for Tyrian–it was a spot he could turn to, a spot his aunt never bothered him within, a spot he felt safe.

He crawled beneath the tented blanket and, just as quickly, he retrieved the book that had been left on one of the pillows, still open on the last page he had been reading from the night prior.

It was about a knight. Though unnamed through the entire story, the knight was a thing of wonder to Tyrian, a man unlike anything the boy could have ever experienced in the confines of his aunt’s small, lonely home. It was through this knight’s tales and stories that he could experience the world as an adventure, to feel the wind and see the rising sun from more than his little window.

He wanted the knight to be his best friend.

A dashing man, the book had described him, a scholar-turned-hero, his hair as red as fire, eyes as green as emeralds and his face covered in freckles. The book described him as once a poor boy, once a servant, once someone society hardly looked at. It was only after the gift of a goddess that he was able to wield a sacred blade and defeat all of those who had opposed him, who had hurt him, who had made him feel small.

The knight and his power, his freedom–Tyrian wanted it all, every ounce. He wanted to be just as free, if only a goddess could bless him with the same gift.

He knew it wouldn’t ever come true; knights, gods and goddesses? They didn’t exist, they never and will never exist. Tyrian was a boy, but he wasn’t a fool–he knew that his life would only ever be that of a servant in his own home, using nothing but books to try and make up for the freedom he didn’t, he couldn’t, he’d never have.

But Tyrian still read, still believed, still dreamed of the day that he too, like the knight, would meet a goddess who would free him from his prison.


End file.
